II.
} Not boundless Heaps of its admired Clay, } Ah, too successful to betray, } When spread in our fraile Vertues way: For few do run with so Resolv'd a Pace, That for the Golden Apple will not loose the Race. And yet not all the Gold the Vain would spend, Or greedy Avarice would wish to save; Which on the Earth refulgent Beams doth send, Or in the Sea has found a Grave, Joyn'd in one Mass, can Bribe sufficient be, The Body from a stern Disease to free, Or purchase for the Minds relief One Moments sweet Repose, when restless made by grief, But what may Laughter, more than Pity, move: When some the Price of what they Dear'st Love Are Masters of, and hold it in their Hand, To part with it their Hearts they can't command: But chose to miss, what miss't does them torment, And that to hug, affords them no Content. Wise Fools, to do them Right, we these must hold, Who Love depose, and Homage pay to Gold.